Gallery Visit II
Art Gallery of NSW
On the last day of January, my partner and I visited the Art Gallery of NSW. You wouldn’t have seen it on my Instagram, because I decided to take a break from social media while we were on holiday, but I just had to write a blog post about the exhibitions we saw. This post is the first in a two-part series – the next one will be about our visit to the Museum of Contemporary Art.
The Art Gallery of NSW is one of my favourite galleries to visit. The mosaic floor underneath your feet as you first walk in, the elongated main foyer area, the rich halls full of the works on permanent display. Multiple transient exhibitions have passed through the rooms in this building, and there will be many more to come in the future.
Just being there makes me excited, every time.
Of course, all art is subjective. Not everything that was there that day fully captivated me, but I always make a conscious effort to find at least one work in every exhibition that speaks to me.
That work in the Family: Visions of a Shared Humanity exhibition was America by Garrett Bradley.
Family was a collection of works by nine video artists, reflecting on the human connection in moments of divisiveness (as much as I enjoy video art… the benches in the cool, dark rooms are a nice place to sit down after a long walk around the gallery).
While the meaning of Bradley’s America should not be overlooked (documenting the accomplishments and hardships of the Black people of America), what really stuck with me about this work was the way in which it was displayed.
America, Garrett Bradley (2019), 23:55 minute multi-channel video installation.
When I visited art galleries with my family as a child, one of the things we would do was ‘dissect’ how the works were made. It was almost like a game, trying to break it down step-by-step; they started with this colour underneath, or the paint was scraped back there to create that texture. I still do this every time I visit a gallery.
The fabric (it was definitely fabric, not screens) of America was arranged in an X shape, intended to be reminiscent of flags, as Bradley writes in her artist statement. But there were only two projectors? My partner and I walked around the space, viewing the work from all angles, trying to puzzle out how the projectors were getting every angle.
America, Garrett Bradley (2019), 23:55 minute multi-channel video installation.
Eventually we figured it out, and could finally sit down to watch, taking in the almost ethereal quality of Bradley’s work.
Conceptually, The Way We Eat exhibition sounded intriguing. It was all about food; how it’s made and eaten, the significance of eating with loved ones, and the cultural perception of different foods. All of these ideas were divided into four themes, ‘Essential’, ‘Exchange’, ‘Excess’, and ‘Enchanted’.
Although I enjoyed reading the concept behind the works, I didn’t linger over many of the pieces – apart from Opulent banquet by Li Linying.
Opulent banquet, Li Linying (1998 - 2008), wool.
Made of 1,500 lifelike knitted strawberries that took her ten years to make. Ten years! Opulent banquet symbolised the strawberry’s transition from lavish seasonal fruit to year-round staple in supermarkets, thanks to developments in agricultural technology.
(But all I could think was, ten years making strawberries… commitment!)
The real highlight of this visit (for me) was the Matisse: Life & Spirit, Masterpieces from the Centre Pompidou, Paris and Matisse Alive exhibitions.
To be honest, I think I viewed these exhibitions in the wrong order – I walked through Matisse Alive before buying tickets for Life & Spirit. But both were absolutely stunning. Life & Spirit spanned Henri Matisse’s expansive, decades-long artistic practice, while Matisse Alive showcased four contemporary artists responding to Matisse’s works, as well as a collection of Polynesian textiles.
Those Polynesian textiles, let me tell you… I couldn’t tear my eyes away. So incredible!
These ‘quilts’ are part of traditional women’s textile practice, called tivaevae. They’re made for weddings, funerals and coming-of-age ceremonies. The information on the wall of the gallery described them as ‘gifts of love’, which is so fitting, I think. Looking at these masterpieces, the care and dedication that went into making them is clear. The bright colours and shapes are inherently joyful – again, as described by the gallery information, they are kept as prized ‘treasured heirlooms’.
No wonder they inspired Matisse when he visited Tahiti, influencing his paper cutouts later in life.
(These quilts also inspired me, when I was there. As an artist who hasn’t made a lot of traditional art recently, and has been focusing more on textiles and slow fashion, seeing textile-based art on the walls of such an esteemed gallery gave me encouragement.)
Star (Etu), Rota Williams’s grandmother (c1960), hand-sewn tivaevae ta’orei and cotton.
My other favourite part of the exhibition was these works by Nina Chanel Abney. The colour, the energy – even though there are minimal soft lines in these pieces, I can see Matisse reflected in Abney’s work.
2 STEP, Nina Chanel Abney (2021), acrylic and spray paint on canvas.
I only really knew of Matisse as a collage artist, through previous research I had done for past projects. The rich colours, organic forms and dynamic compositions of his works caught and held my attention, like the well-known Blue Nude II. What I didn’t realise, was that Matisse was creating these works towards the end of his life (in his sixties and seventies!), and when he was physically quite unwell. The pieces themselves seem exactly the opposite – full of verve and life.
Blue nude II, Henri Matisse (1952), gouache on paper, cut and pasted on paper, mounted on canvas.
Jazz, Henri Matisse (1947), illustrated book of 20 colour stencil prints.
Of course, Matisse had a well-established artistic practice long before he started creating cutouts. It was amazing to see his works in other mediums, from richly-coloured oil paintings, to quick, proficient sketches, to the monumental bronze casts of the Backs series (sadly I didn’t take a photo of them, but they were huge!).
Themes and variations, Henri Matisse (1943).
Tahiti II/Window in Tahiti, Henri Matisse (1936), gouache on canvas.
His whole life seems steeped in his art practice. Even through tumultuous life evens and ill health, his works are full of such vigour.
Pale blue window, Henri Matisse (1948 - 1949), gouache on paper, mounted on canvas.
When going to any exhibition, I always make sure to pick up any ephemera to take with me – for Life & Spirit, it was a nice booklet, with copies of the wall text scattered throughout the exhibition. One section really stuck with me:
“Though Matisse’s art conveys lightness and joy, he was a fiercely self-critical artist whose working life was punctuated by periods of intense self-doubt and creative anxiety.”
I can relate to this. Hard.
Just the phrase ‘creative anxiety’ had me nodding my head. I’ve struggled so much to let go (or at least relax) my perfectionist tendencies, and be looser and more open to change when creating my art. I’ve been semi-successful, but I’m still my own worst critic.
It’s somewhat a relief to know that Henri Matisse felt the same way.
Keep up with my art journey!
